


Promises are Forever (Except in the Olympics)

by tailor31415



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: merlinolympics, Hockey player AU, M/M, ice hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tailor31415/pseuds/tailor31415
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're a traitor to America." "Arthur, I'm Canadian." "You're half-Canadian."<br/>For Merlin Olympics on LJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises are Forever (Except in the Olympics)

**Author's Note:**

> (or Arthur and Merlin are on opposing teams for the Olympics and Arthur isn't too pleased about it for some reason.)  
> Based on a prompt of essentially, Arthur and Merlin are Jonathan Toews and Patrick Kane of the Chicago Blackhawks. More of a story about the consequences of going to the Olympics rather than the Olympics themselves...? [Minor references to hockey-related background knowledge (and actual hockey players), not necessary for enjoyment/understanding]

            Arthur blinks down at his phone after the call and hears himself say, as if from a distance, “Oh hell.”

            From the kitchen, where Merlin’s been puttering around working at something since he arrived, the other man calls, “What? Did Pierre start talking or something?”

            Arthur looks up at the television, where a talking head informs him ‘Winter Classic coverage will ensue shortly, let’s go down to the ice with…’ and shouts back, “No, thankfully!”

            There’s a soft clang of a pan being placed on the stove and then Merlin comes into the room, studying Arthur where he is once again staring at his phone. “They just called,” he informs Merlin softly, “I’m on the team.”

            “Of course,” Merlin replies, stepping up behind the couch and clapping his hand down on Arthur’s shoulder. “I told you there was no reason to worry.”

            Arthur keeps his head ducked as he remarks, “My father always doubted I would ever be good enough for the team. And now I’ve made it twice.”

            Merlin’s hand squeezes down tightly on his shoulder for a moment and then his fingers start kneading in comfortably. They remain in silence for a moment, staring at the screen where a newscaster is proclaiming the record-number of people there in Michigan to watch.

            “Do you,” he starts, cutting off when his voice cracks. Clearing his throat, he tries again, “Do you think I should call Gwaine…?”

            Fingers gripping tightly again, Merlin answers, “Just wait and see at the end of the game. That’s what we’re watching for.” He gives Arthur a small pat and turns away.

            “That’s not all we’re watching for,” Arthur shouts back at him, dropping his phone to the couch, “This could be a quality Leafs game!”      

            Merlin slams a cupboard door in response as Arthur grins and turns back to where, oh, Pierre McGuire is indeed talking.

\---

            Gwaine doesn’t make the team. Arthur grits his teeth as they parade out the children wearing the jerseys and only his name goes by. Of the whole team, only his name is there.

            He swallows tightly when Merlin glances over at him. At the inquisitive look, he laughs out a “forgot I might be alone over there” and flinches away from the way Merlin’s eyes narrow.

            “You won’t be alone,” Merlin replies, shifting closer on the couch and turning so one leg is propped up and he can rest his elbow on his knee.

            Arthur shrugs, thumbing the remote to lower the volume. “Won’t have you with me –”

            “Obviously.”

            He goes on as if he wasn’t interrupted, “Won’t have Gwaine in net, either.” He sucks in a breath, “Who do you think they’ll put on my wing? What if it’s Brown or something?”

            “Don’t be a prat,” Merlin replies, rolling his eyes, “Somebody has to be on your wing. He’s as good as anyone else would be.”

            Arthur grumbles into his folded arms and forces himself to focus on the replay footage flashing by the screen instead of Merlin’s hand where it rests just a bit from his leg. “You’ll probably have Leon on your wing,” he informs Merlin, just in case the other man has forgotten. He just wants to help Merlin out here.

            Merlin’s fingers flick against his thigh, and Arthur catches them and clicks his tongue with a ‘don’t assault your captain,’ when Merlin scoffs at him. “I don’t even know if I’ll make the team, much less Leon.”

            Arthur laughs then, for the first time since the call, and shoves Merlin’s hand back over. “Of course you will. They wouldn’t leave the Ice Wizard –”

            “Don’t call me that, it’s absolutely the worst.”

            “ – off. Probably even ask you to be captain.”

            Brow furrowing, Merlin studies his face and remarks, “Wouldn’t want it even if they did. I get enough media coverage as it is. Rather let Sid take all the responsibility.”

            “Oh yes,” Arthur says, “First-name basis with Crosby – I had forgotten.”

            Merlin studies his face for a moment, then seems to come to the conclusion that Arthur is joking and pats his thigh sharply once. “You’ll always be captain in my heart,” he teases. Leaning closer, he spreads his arms a bit and asks, “Want a hug?”

            Merlin may spend the rest of the post-game with his head stuffed between the cushions of the couch.

            Maybe.

\---

            Until one of those commercials comes on that shows off the veteran players on the team and loudly declares Arthur ‘Captain Chivlary!’ and Merlin ‘Merls!’ and the rest of the boys and for some reason includes Merlin’s signature celly of skating down to one knee and rising up while, well, the fans like to say he roars like a dragon, but Arthur thinks he just looks a bit silly.

            He pulls Merlin up by his shoulder, points, and says, “You cannot do that at the Olympics.”

            Merlin blinks at the screen and then flashes a grin at Arthur, “You don’t like it? Maybe I’ll do it just for that reason.”

            “You’re an idiot,” Arthur informs him, stuffing him back down into the couch.

\---       

            It takes a whole week for the Canadian announcement. Merlin shakes his head at him every time he asks if he has received a call, saying, “Don’t know why you guys announced so early. Bit silly, wasn’t it?”

            Arthur straightens up and declares, “It’s not silly. And if you were playing for America, you’d know by now, wouldn’t you?” He nods to himself, “You should be playing for the superior team anyway.”

            Merlin’s jaw drops slightly as he stares at Arthur and then he laughs. “Superior, eh? Tell that to my Vancouver medal.”

            Turning away as if he missed what Merlin had said, Arthur picks up his phone and glances over his new texts. “We’re supposed to meet up with the team to watch the announcement before practice,” he declares.

            Merlin’s lips curl into a smile and he glances over, “Where do you think I was driving you?”

            Peering out the window, Arthur shrugs and replies, “I really hadn’t given it a thought. I’m so used to you driving me around ever since –”

            “Ever since I lost that bet, yes, I know,” Merlin cuts in. He turns to pull into the parking lot. “When are the terms of that up again?” he asks as they pull into a spot.

            Arthur fiddles with his phone, then offers a slightly inquisitive, “Two weeks…”

            “No way!” Merlin laughs, “It was two weeks two weeks ago! Arthur Pendragon, are you changing the terms of the bet?” He slips out of the car, shifting to the back to pull out their gear.

            “I think the whole experience is quite character building for you, don’t you think?” he replies, following Merlin around to grab one of the bags. Merlin ends up weighed down by several duffels of gear, while Arthur carries their suit bags for the game later.

            “I’m never wagering with you over a shootout again,” Merlin grumbles, as he has every day since the post-practice shootout that had led to Arthur scoring ahead of all the other forwards. A minor bribe to Gwaine to go easy on him may have been involved. But when the terms were a month of semi-servitude to the winner, how is it not a no holds barred situation?

            Arthur smiles for the small group of fans waiting by the entrance, giving them a wave as they pass and blinking back the camera flashes. “Be a good sport there, Merlin,” he advises, just happening to hold the door open for him as Merlin struggles through with the bags.

            “Good sport,” Merlin snorts, “Next time, I’ll get to Gwaine first and then we’ll see who the good sport is.”

            They enter the locker room still bickering, Arthur declaring loudly, “If you’re accusing me of cheating…!”

            “Arthur – cheating?” Gwaine breaks in, “How could you think such a thing, Merlin? Not of Captain Chivalry and Courage and Everything-that-is-good.”

            “Shut up, Gwaine,” Arthur advises, “Before you get replaced by Raanta as my favorite goalie.” Gwaine gasps loudly as Raanta chuckles from his corner. Before Gwaine can say anything in reply, Arthur glances around and asks, “Where’s Coach?”

            “He’s coming in after the announcement,” Merlin says as he tosses the gear down in front of their stalls. “Come on, I heard they might have some food in there for while we watch.”

            Arthur follows him into where couches have been set up in front of the television and Lancelot, who tosses them a wave over his shoulder, is smacking at the thing as if it will suddenly start showing what he wants. “I don’t know why I even came,” Arthur grumbles as he tosses himself down onto a seat.

            Merlin flops down next to him, thighs brushing together, and replies, “For moral support. I don’t even know if I’ve made the team yet.” Arthur socks him in the arm, drawing a yelp and an “Arthur, we’ve talked about that!” even as Merlin leans forward and asks, “Lance, what’s up?”

            “I don’t think we’ll be able to watch on this,” he replies with a frown, flipping through the channels with the remote.

            Groaning, Arthur lets his head fall back against the couch and closes his eyes. He can feel the nervous bouncing of Merlin’s leg next to him and he opens his mouth just as Merlin exclaims, “I got it on my phone. We can watch like this.”

            So they do, most of the team wandering in from time to time to peer over their shoulders at the tiny screen and ask, “Have they stopped giving speeches yet?”

            Merlin shakes his head each time, biting at his lip, and Arthur finally pulls the phone from him and passes it off to Elyan. “You’ll be fine,” Arthur informs him, “It’s probably a mistake they didn’t call you.”

            Shrugging, Merlin says shakily, “Maybe they thought they called me first and forgot they never did?”

            Just as he finishes saying it, there is a tiny call of “Merlin Emrys!” from the phone stream and they both glance over to stare at it and then Arthur grins over at Merlin. “There – guess somebody sees some worth in you after all.”

            Arthur gently takes the phone from Elyan when they pass through all the names without calling his own and the team sits in silence as they process the fact that Canada only took one half of their best defensive pairing.

            Percival’s hand comes down from behind the couch to squeeze tightly at Elyan’s neck, giving him a soft shake, and he rumbles out, “Guess you’ll be babysitting for me then.”

\---

            The next day in practice, it starts to sink in for Arthur. In less than two months, there will be no more easy no-look passes to a winger that is always where he needs him, no more pressing Merlin into the boards in celebration after a third period power play goal, no more thigh taps on the bench before the start of a line change – none of them, not for two whole weeks.

            Merlin grabs him by the collar of his jersey and knocks at his helmet with a stiff glove. “If you don’t pass to me one more time, you idiot, I’m going to snap your favorite stick,” Merlin hisses.

            And no more screaming on the bench.

            Perhaps that is the one benefit of the Olympics, he thinks as he shoves back at Merlin and snaps, “I’m not even supposed to pass to you on that play.”

            Merlin narrows his eyes at him and then glances over his shoulder at where the play is drawn up on the glass. “Well, you should anyway,” he shrugs out.

            Rolling his eyes, Arthur grabs a whiteboard and scribbles out what Merlin wanted him to do, “Like this?” Merlin tips his chin over Arthur’s shoulder and peers down at the board. The nod digs his chin into Arthur and warmth from his cheek sweeps into Arthur’s neck. Arthur lets a small smile slip over his face and then he nudges Leon on his other side.

            Leon looks over the board and gives him a grin. “Let me just show this to Percy and Elyan, yeah?” he remarks, taking it from Arthur’s grip and starting to slide down the bench.

            Merlin elbows him hard in the side and, when Arthur turns his head back, taps their helmets together gently. Leon interrupts with a call of “Not sure we’ll have time for this with the photo shoot and all.”

            Eyes going wide, Arthur jerks away from Merlin and asks desperately, “Kilgharrah’s not involved in this one, is he?” Because Kilgharrah is the one behind all those photo shoots where Merlin has to hook his arms over Arthur’s shoulders or they have to stand back to back and hook arms. And that commercial where there was some dragon creeping through the locker room for some reason while Merlin and Arthur had to stare into each other’s eyes from across the room. And the tag lines on all those posters that said things like ‘two sides of the same blade.’ And, Arthur suspected, he was most likely also the reason that all video highlights with the two of them featured instrumental remix versions of popular love songs – he is definitely sure ‘A Thousand Years’ was in one of them.

            Merlin gives him a grin, because this issue is something they have discussed and laughed over together – well Merlin laughed, Arthur groaned into his folded hands – and he knows exactly what Arthur is asking about. “No,” he says, knocking their shoulders together again, “It’ll be all of us. You don’t have to be scared.”

            “I’m not scared,” Arthur huffs, tapping his stick against the boards and then standing up to hop over when the new drill is called.

            “Course not!” Merlin shouts after him, “Captain Chivalry isn’t scared of anything!”

            And that sets off Leon and Gwaine and Percival, who start shouting random chirps after him as well. “Find out about the monster under the bed thing?” Elyan asks loudly and pointedly when they all start to quiet down, setting off a new burst of laughter, and Arthur grits his teeth because he never liked any of them anyway.

\---       

            “Have you seen this?” Arthur demands, shoving his phone under Merlin’s nose and wiggling it back and forth.

            “If you stop shaking it,” Merlin replies, grabbing the phone and shifts it further away so he can see the screen. He laughs and glances up at Arthur. “So?”

            “Merlin, there’s three beds stuffed into that tiny room!” Arthur exclaims, grabbing back his phone and scrolling down a page, “And, look, the bathrooms aren’t even complete!”

            Merlin laughs again, tossing the rest of his gear on the ground as he strips down. “Worried for mice under your bed?” he teases.

            A warm, fresh towel hits Arthur in the face when Leon tosses one over as he passes by. Arthur grabs him by his shoulder and shoves the phone in his face as well. “Oh!” he exclaims, “Merlin, we get to have a roommate!”

            Jaw dropping, Arthur turns back to Merlin, “You get to room with Leon?”

            Merlin shrugs as he takes a drink and Leon cuts in with, “Nothing’s set in stone yet.” He turns slightly and shouts, “Could be stuck with Percy instead! He’d need all three beds for himself.”

            Percival barks out a laugh as Gwaine catches him around the shoulders with an arm and squeezes. “Most definitely,” Gwaine calls back, “Can barely get one arm around him with these shoulders.”

            Turning back with an exaggerated frown on his face, Leon says, “See, Arthur, you could end up sleeping on the floor like I will.”

            Arthur shrugs and sits down stiffly, rubbing the towel over his face as the attention in the room shifts to Gwaine measuring the width of Percival’s biceps with his hands. He can feel Merlin step closer, feel the slight pressure of fingers on his shoulder, and then Merlin is saying, “You’re glad you don’t have to room with me anyway. Remember how you used to throw your dirty clothes all over me and how we’d fight over room service?” Suddenly thinking about having to watch Merlin walk around the room in just a towel for all those years of rooming together on road trips, something that could easily disrupt the focus he will need for the Olympics, Arthur shrugs and presses his face further down into the towel. Merlin’s hand slaps down and he pulls back. “Just two weeks, Arthur.”

            Two weeks is a long time when Arthur has to think of Merlin as his opponent, to have to look across the ice to the opposite bench to see him, to have to – A heavy weight lands on his shoulders, shoving his head down towards his knees, and he pushes up to see Gwaine’s eyes directly in front of his own.

            “Alright there, Cap?” Gwaine asks, pulling back to stuff himself onto the small bench next to Arthur. When Arthur opens his mouth to reply, Gwaine says over him loudly, “It’s alright to be sad you’ll be missing me over there. Everyone knows I’m your favorite!”

            Merlin snorts from where he was approaching the shower and Percival makes a noise of shocked outrage. But, that is quickly followed by Elyan’s quiet, “Percy, aren’t I your favorite?” and Gwaine pats Arthur’s shoulder several times in a row as Percival and Elyan start doing their strange co-dependent d-men thing across the room. “At least you’re going,” Gwaine mutters softly.

            Arthur turns towards him, frown on his lips, and claps an arm around Gwaine’s shoulders. “I am sorry about that – I still think you should be going,” he offers with the most comfort he can manage in his tone.

            Shrugging under his arm, Gwaine replies, “They only take three goalies.”

            Stuffing the towel in his face and scruffing it back and forth, Arthur says firmly over Gwaine’s sputtering complaints, “Now you’ll have two weeks to train and help get us all the way this season, yeah?”

            Gwaine emerges a mess of dark curls and watering eyes. “God, you’re rough with that thing,” he complains, scrubbing at his eyes with a closed fist. He pulls away from Arthur and stands up. With a mock salute, he replies, “Will do, Captain. Bring home the gold for the beautiful U.S. of A. for me.”

            Arthur gives him a stiff nod before Gwaine is tackled to the ground by Shaw, who shouts in his face, “Conspiring to take the gold from Canada?” and catches him up in a headlock. Arthur tilts his chin towards Bollig and Saad, who exchange a glance and shift over to pull the small forward off and herd him toward the showers.

\---

            They end up riding together to the airport. They conveniently are on the same flight – alright, well, Merlin ordered the tickets for both of them, so there is not much of a coincidence. Arthur may fall asleep on Merlin’s shoulder during the flight a few times. Merlin may wake him up every time with a reminder that Bylsma already assigned the team plenty of pre-arrival homework. Arthur may refuse to watch any videos or read any articles on his own. Merlin may watch and read with him just to get him to do his work. Maybe.

            And when they finally touch down in Russia, shuffling off the plane to where the Russians are herding them towards country-specific buses, Arthur lags behind until Merlin steps back with him. “Hey,” he says, tapping their shoulders together, “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

            “Right,” Arthur replies, swallowing around a suddenly-tight throat.

            He can see Merlin’s smile out of the corner of his eye, can see those dark curls spilling out from under a toque, and tilts his head away so his peripheral vision is clear. “You go try to win for America and I’ll go win it for Canada and we’ll be back to get another Cup before you know it.”

            Arthur starts to nod, then narrows his eyes at Merlin’s back as he starts to trot away. “We’re getting the gold!” he shouts after him, “We’re not in Vancouver anymore!”

\---

            Arthur thinks a lot that day about Vancouver. The first day there, it seems most people are – muttering ‘remember how in Vancouver’ and ‘last time in Canada’ and ‘well this is certainly different than Vancouver, isn’t it?’ – so Arthur’s thoughts are not that unusual. But, his teammates probably are not just dwelling on thoughts like his. Thoughts that last time for some reason, Merlin being on the other team never bothered him. In fact, after those silly videos PR had them do with fake ‘Olympic’ events and speed-downing shots of maple syrup or whatever it was, Arthur had only wanted to see Merlin beat and to laud the gold over his head.

            Okay, well, no, because that would be a bit much. But he did want to compete against Merlin with his best effort and he had had no thoughts of missing Merlin at all.

            None.

            Well…maybe a few.

            In any case, somehow in the last four years, Arthur cannot even bear the thought of losing two weeks of the season to being separate from Merlin. Maybe because they have won the Cup twice since the end of the last games, maybe because he and Merlin have gone from being forced together by coaches and rooming arrangements and PR agents to willingly spending time together outside of practice – it feels sometimes that Merlin practically lives in his spare room, and, no, that is not a fact for public consumption or record.

            Arthur remembers their first practice together at their prospect camp, when he’s sitting in his, alright, admittedly spacious and comfortable room trying to convince his body that, yes, now is time for sleep. He remembers skating up to Merlin before a scrimmage and chirping something about how skinny Merlin was – and he very soon discovered that Merlin was lean, never skinny – and how he probably could not even bear to take a real NHL hit. Merlin had grinned at him, all spark and sly intent, and challenged that, if Arthur thought it would only take one hit to take him out, he could take Arthur apart with less than one blow.

            When the puck dropped, Arthur had rushed toward him, shoulder turned slightly to catch Merlin’s own. But Merlin had slipped off to the side somehow, letting Arthur crash right into the glass with the full-force of his momentum. Arthur might have blacked out for a moment. Merlin may have laughed until he fell down. They might have exchanged a horrified glance when they found out they were going to be roommates for the foreseeable future. But, that all changed soon enough.

            Changed until they reached the point where Arthur could just shout out his name on the ice and Merlin would know exactly what type of pass or shot or deke Arthur wanted him to carry out, where Merlin could lean over the teammates on the bench and mouth out advice down to Arthur and Arthur would be able to read every word, where Arthur became captain and Merlin never took the A because he was a brilliant playmaker but how would it look if the C and A were screaming at each other on the bench all the time?

            But here they were and Merlin was going to be decked out in red and Arthur in blue and the only screaming would be in the middle of a scrum – if Merlin even got close, which he never did. And, just as he was about to fall asleep, Arthur thought of the smile on Merlin’s face after the Golden Goal, when Canada had won and Arthur’s heart had been seizing in his chest. And he still could not tell if it was the pain of disappointment or the surprise of seeing that smile. Either way, Arthur had the foggy thought that he maybe would not even mind if Canada won again, just to see that smile one more time.

\---

            Arthur’s lurking at the boards when Merlin skates up to him with a snapped out “Arthur, what are you doing here?” Merlin’s taller than him with skates on, even when Arthur’s up off the ice like this, and he’s glaring down at Arthur as if Arthur just insulted his mother. Which he would never – except that one time she made porridge and that was a special exception because Arthur and mornings were not made to mix regardless. “How did you get in?”

            Gesturing across the ice, Arthur mutters, “Followed Malkin in.”

            Merlin turns quickly and, sounding scandalized, shouts out across the ice, “Sid!”

            Crosby glances back over his shoulder at Merlin from where he was cozied up against the boards chatting with Malkin and waves over. The Canadian captain turns back and starts gesturing at the rest of the team still drilling on the ice and Merlin passes a hand through his hair. “He’d better not be telling him all about our drills,” Merlin mutters, “The traitor.”

            Arthur laughs at that, and it sounds dry and brittle to his ears, “You’re the traitor,” he says before the thought even fully passes through his mind.

            Turning back, Merlin blinks at him and slowly skates closer. “What?”         

            He thinks about laughing it off, but he has already said it so… “You’re a traitor to America,” he answers.

            “Arthur, I’m Canadian.” Merlin’s now looking over him like he thinks Arthur was possibly in a concussion-inducing accident in the past few hours.

            “You’re half-Canadian,” Arthur corrects, “And you chose to betray m-, uh, betray America.”

            Because Arthur still remembers back in their first rookie season, when Merlin had explained that his mother was from Canada, but his father was from the U.S., and that Merlin had always chosen to play for Canada in international tournaments. Arthur had remembered playing against him in World Juniors and had asked if Merlin would ever play for America. ‘Vancouver’s going to have the 2010 Olympics and I can’t not play for them,’ he had shrugged, ‘You know the citizenship rules can be messy.’ Arthur had frowned, because their first game, after their first shift together, Merlin had tapped him on the thigh and jerked his chin up towards the stands. ‘Gonna fill them up, no matter how long it takes,’ Arthur had promised when they looked over all the empty seats. Merlin had grinned at him, nodded, and promised in return, ‘I’ll be at your side through it all,’ and Arthur had not realized at the time what that would mean for him now. But, he supposed, those kind of promises did not apply to the Olympics.

            The look is something fonder now and Merlin opens his mouth to speak. He is interrupted when Crosby lets out a honking laugh and one of the coaches finally notices two of his players missing down the ice. Arthur ducks out of the way as the man looks over and Merlin peers over the boards at him. “You should be glad there’s no press here,” he is informed glibly as Merlin pushes back and starts to skate away.

            “We waited for them to leave,” Arthur hisses after him as he pulls himself up to watch Merlin move away. He glances across the ice, but Malkin is already somehow gone and Arthur always forgets how quickly the lean giant can move. He starts to crawl back towards the corridor they used to come in and runs into a pair of long legs.

            “Good visit with friend?” Malkin asks, beaming down at him. He grips Arthur under the arm and heaves him up with a single pull. “Some good Canadians after all,” he adds with a wink.

            Arthur glances back over his shoulder, to where Merlin is rubbing at his face with a towel, and sighs, “I guess there are.”

            There is a call in Russian from further down the corridor and Malkin’s face twitches before he calls something back. Arthur glances up at him and asks slowly, “What was that about?”

            Malkin shrugs, grinning lopsidedly, and remarks, “Guard ask if done. I say yes, Mama give soup later.” He claps his arm around Arthur’s shoulder and tugs him along, “Now come. Sasha says to invite you back for drinks.” Arthur starts to shake his head, because he knows how that will end, but the Russian tugs him closer and says, “Can drown sorrows of playing against teammates. Will be good.”

            And Arthur lets himself be dragged off.

            When he checks his phone in the morning, he sees one single message sent to Merlin sometime late the previous evening. _Drank vodka fr u tratr_ ,it reads. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, because if that’s what he managed to text, what must he have said – he’s never been a very good drunk, as Merlin has informed him time and again.

            His phone vibrates in his hand and Arthur looks down to see a new message from Merlin. _You missed getting cuddled by Putin_ , Merlin says. Arthur decides that is something he does not even want to address and goes to take a shower instead.

\---

            Arthur plays well through the prelims – of course he does, it is his job and he is a professional, regardless of how morose he is. And, as much as he complained back in the States, he is friends with many of the guys on the team, and he might even say something friendly from time to time to Brown. Maybe.

            And he also sneaks in to watch the Canadian games when he can, when he is free from practice and his own games, and after the first one, several of the other guys catch him and sneak in with him. And Arthur watches Merlin play with Leon and Percival and lets himself feel just a bit of jealousy. Just a bit.

            Of course, someone posts a picture and, of course, Gwaine skypes him with a teasing “checking on your boyfriend?” and Arthur is severely tempted to shut his laptop before the goalie can manage another word.

            Gwaine spends a while telling Arthur about what the team has been up to over the break, letting Arthur stew in silence until he pauses for breath and Arthur can cut in. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Callahan sends him a glance from across the room and Arthur rolls his eyes at him. ‘Goalie,’ he mouths, jerking his head towards the screen, and the other man grins and nods in reply.

            “It’d be okay if he was,” Gwaine muses, and Arthur is suddenly glad he put his headphones in before starting this conversation.

            “Gwaine…” Arthur mutters, “Can we not.”

            “Right-o, princess,” he replies, grinning at the screen. “Tell me about the Village then. Did you see Putin?”

            “Sadly,” Arthur replies as somberly as he can manage, “I missed President Putin’s visit. But, I suppose I can tell you about the Village.”

            Gwaine’s eyes take on a strange gleam and he says, “Tell me all about the U.S.A. House.”

            So Arthur shrugs and does.

\---

            The room is dark when Arthur jerks awake and he blinks until his eyes adjust slightly to see someone is sitting at the foot of his bed. He lets out a yell as he thrusts out with his foot and whoever it is goes tumbling to the ground.

            “Arthur, you jerk,” Merlin groans from the floor and Arthur scrambles over to turn on the lamp and then look over at the other man.

            “How did you get in here?” Arthur hisses, glancing over to see that Callahan is, well, not in his bed and clearly no one had been there all night.

            Merlin pulls himself up on the bed, sitting cross-legged across from Arthur, and grins. “Gwaine called me up and told me how to sneak in.” The smile turns a bit sly and he adds, “He told me a certain someone was missing a certain someone else.”

            Arthur scoffs, then realizes he is only wearing a pair of briefs and pulls the blankets up to cover his lap.

            “Hey,” Merlin says suddenly, “Quarter-finals tomorrow.”

            “Why, Merlin, it’s as if you’ve actually been paying attention to the schedule.”

            Merlin narrows his eyes at him and then shrugs, “Well, I’d understand if you had forgotten, since it seems all your thoughts have been on me.”

            “Not,” he clears his throat, “Not all of them.”

            They stare at each other for a long moment and then Merlin admits softly, “All of mine have been on you.”

            Arthur’s mouth goes dry and he peers at the sheets between his fingers. “Oh,” he breathes out, licking his lips, “That’s pretty…” He swallows, “That’s a pretty girly thing to say, Merlin.”

            Bouncing the bed once as he shifts, Merlin shrugs and taps Arthur on the knee. “I know you have feelings in there somewhere,” he teases, voice wavering slightly and Arthur cannot bear that at all.

            “I do,” he admits, tapping his own finger on the back of Merlin’s hand.

            “Arthur,” Merlin says, voice suddenly calm and serious. Arthur looks up to meet his eyes and Merlin catches up his hand in a tight grip. “If you can play, you can play,” Merlin informs him earnestly.

            Arthur snorts and shoves him off the bed again. “Don’t joke about that,” Arthur declares, peering down at him. “I’ve taken the Captain’s Pledge – might have to report you.”

            Merlin grins at him from the floor, leaning back against his hands. “I mean it.”

            “I know,” Arthur admits. He gives a small shrug, because he might as well say it, “It’s only you.”

            “It’s only you too,” Merlin quickly replies. He slips up onto the bed again, shoving at Arthur’s shoulders until he lays down. “Now, I have good intelligence that Callahan will be out all night…”

            “What? How?” Arthur interrupts.

            “The Russians have him,” Merlin informs him with an expression of obviously fake regret.

            Arthur crosses an arm over his eyes and mutters from under his arm, “I can’t believe you sabotaged my team for, what, a booty call?”

            “No,” Merlin replies, drawing out the word as he flops down to press his head to Arthur’s shoulder. “For a pep talk,” he adds, patting at Arthur’s bare stomach.

            Nodding as if that makes sense, Arthur lets his hand fall to tangle his fingers with Merlin’s.

            “Now,” Merlin starts, sounding for some odd reason just like Coach Q, “You’re still doing that thing where you fall whenever you take a hard hit –”

            Arthur groans and advises, “Shut up, Merlin.”

            And Merlin does. For a while. Until he whispers out Arthur’s name when Arthur’s just seconds from sleep and, when there’s no response, adds, “See? I promised I’d always by your side.”

            And, well, Arthur cannot resist the smile the slips over his lips at that.

\---

            It feels like a dream when he glances across the ice to see Merlin – not a particularly good dream though, or one he would ever want to remember, because he’s wearing red and so is Merlin but they aren’t matching jerseys and how can a dream be good if they aren’t on the same team? The referee is coming up next to him when a thought drifts into his mind and he looks over until Merlin’s eyes lock on his. “Gonna take me out with one blow?” he asks, keeping his voice soft to just travel the distance between them.

            Merlin grins, tilting his head slightly and mutters back, “Less than.”

            The puck drops.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Merlin and the Olympics belong to their respective creaters. Any resemblance to real life people or events is accidental. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement of Merlin or the Olympics is intended.)  
> Thanks for reading! (I had meant for this to be at least 5K longer but time...ran out on me.)


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